Sad to say, the only solution that I could come up with was to find Sneezer another home. If they were fighting at night, they were likely fighting during the day when I was at work. I soon gave him to a guy who lived upstairs in my apartment building.
He seemed a nice enough sort who would enjoy a large, lovable cat. Unfortunately, the guy discovered he had a terrible allergic reaction to cats, so I took Sneezer back. My friend Ramsey's brother had a dog but thought he could give Sneezer a good home. However, a week later I was to learn that Sneezer simply sat in the basement all day and night, as if profoundly unhappy with his new surroundings, and would not even come upstairs at all. I bowed to the inevitable and soon took Sneezer back. He'd always had those big, sad eyes that looked pathetically into yours and seemed to ask for love and affection unquestioningly.
Fortunately, he and Schnozz seemed to quickly declare a truce and the fighting stopped. I bought a second carpeted cylinder so that each cat would have one to sit atop in the small bedroom and look outside at the alley below and watch whomever or whatever might pass by.
This new apartment wasn't nearly as nice as my first, small, one-bedroom apartment. That one was along the front of the middle building and looked out at a tree and down to the front sidewalk below. But after several months living in this new unit under crowded conditions--I now had more and larger furniture after living in the large one-bedroom apartment with Frank--that when a tenant moved from the two-bedroom unit at the north end of the building, just two doors down, I grabbed at the chance for additional space.
However, I never realized how attached Sneezer had become to the cozy one-bedroom apartment, now that he had had a permanent home, until a friend and a buddy of his helped me move. Schnozz took to the new, much larger apartment instantly, exploring the entire length including each of the two bedrooms and the large living room/dining room. She was immediately content, being far more adverturous.
Since that move was a success, I then carried Sneezer to the new apartment and set him down, hoping for the best. Moments later, though, he sneaked back into the old apartment; and I soon found him, head forlornly down on the carpet in the bedroom, not wanting any part of the move or the new place. I just left him laying there until we finished moving everything else out. He spent the next few days in the new apartment hiding under my bed.
When need of food became pronounced, he finally ventured out and began to explore his new surroundings. Since his carpeted cylinder was against the window in the first bedroom that I mainly used for storing my CDs and laser discs and other less-needed items, he could sit atop it undisturbed and watch people walking their dogs on the sidewalk below, as well as keep an attentive eye on squirrels in the trees along 10Th Street.
But when I would leave the front door open, and Schnozz would climb the stairs to the deck above the third floor to watch birds pass overhead, just out of reach, I would find Sneezer sitting in front of the door to the old apartment, almost quizzically looking up. Perhaps he was wondering why he couldn't go home again. Perhaps it was also because, in that apartment, I had also maintained a dry-food dispenser where Sneezer could eat at will all day and night long. He normally weighed in at a studly 17 and a half pounds whenever I took him to the Vet for his regular checkups and shots. However, being able to graze at the food dispenser at any time, he began to pack on the tonnage, becoming a very robust 23 pounds at one point. He had become one, ginormous lap cat. There was no doubt about it, he had to lose weight. About the time we moved to the larger apartment, the food dispenser was immediately dispensed with and he was given food on a strict schedule.
It was in that apartment where my Rainbow Arc of Fire self-publishing career really took off. Most of the first six books in the series arrived there from the printer in Canada. Sadly, too, it was there that I had to put Schnozz to sleep when the Vet discovered that her colon was riddled with cancer after 13 years on the planet. I wrote about her passing in Worlds Beneath Us. When the Vet arrived, Sneezer, sensing trouble, hid under the bed and remained there until long after the Vet left with Schnozz's body.
It was there, also, where I was given Miranda, a high-strung Calico. Sneezer did not take to her at all in the beginning--yowling and chasing after her relentlessly. He simply did not like other cats. This was a pattern I would discover from that point on. Another cat was competition for food and attention. With me, he was as lovable and friendly as can be; toward other cats, however, he was ruthless and defensive. "Live and let live" was not his motto regarding another feline, even one in residence. But, eventually, he declared a truce with Miranda, as he had with Schnozz before, and we all settled into a routine those final months that we lived in the Park Humboldt Apartments.
He seemed a nice enough sort who would enjoy a large, lovable cat. Unfortunately, the guy discovered he had a terrible allergic reaction to cats, so I took Sneezer back. My friend Ramsey's brother had a dog but thought he could give Sneezer a good home. However, a week later I was to learn that Sneezer simply sat in the basement all day and night, as if profoundly unhappy with his new surroundings, and would not even come upstairs at all. I bowed to the inevitable and soon took Sneezer back. He'd always had those big, sad eyes that looked pathetically into yours and seemed to ask for love and affection unquestioningly.
Fortunately, he and Schnozz seemed to quickly declare a truce and the fighting stopped. I bought a second carpeted cylinder so that each cat would have one to sit atop in the small bedroom and look outside at the alley below and watch whomever or whatever might pass by.
This new apartment wasn't nearly as nice as my first, small, one-bedroom apartment. That one was along the front of the middle building and looked out at a tree and down to the front sidewalk below. But after several months living in this new unit under crowded conditions--I now had more and larger furniture after living in the large one-bedroom apartment with Frank--that when a tenant moved from the two-bedroom unit at the north end of the building, just two doors down, I grabbed at the chance for additional space.
However, I never realized how attached Sneezer had become to the cozy one-bedroom apartment, now that he had had a permanent home, until a friend and a buddy of his helped me move. Schnozz took to the new, much larger apartment instantly, exploring the entire length including each of the two bedrooms and the large living room/dining room. She was immediately content, being far more adverturous.
Since that move was a success, I then carried Sneezer to the new apartment and set him down, hoping for the best. Moments later, though, he sneaked back into the old apartment; and I soon found him, head forlornly down on the carpet in the bedroom, not wanting any part of the move or the new place. I just left him laying there until we finished moving everything else out. He spent the next few days in the new apartment hiding under my bed.
When need of food became pronounced, he finally ventured out and began to explore his new surroundings. Since his carpeted cylinder was against the window in the first bedroom that I mainly used for storing my CDs and laser discs and other less-needed items, he could sit atop it undisturbed and watch people walking their dogs on the sidewalk below, as well as keep an attentive eye on squirrels in the trees along 10Th Street.
But when I would leave the front door open, and Schnozz would climb the stairs to the deck above the third floor to watch birds pass overhead, just out of reach, I would find Sneezer sitting in front of the door to the old apartment, almost quizzically looking up. Perhaps he was wondering why he couldn't go home again. Perhaps it was also because, in that apartment, I had also maintained a dry-food dispenser where Sneezer could eat at will all day and night long. He normally weighed in at a studly 17 and a half pounds whenever I took him to the Vet for his regular checkups and shots. However, being able to graze at the food dispenser at any time, he began to pack on the tonnage, becoming a very robust 23 pounds at one point. He had become one, ginormous lap cat. There was no doubt about it, he had to lose weight. About the time we moved to the larger apartment, the food dispenser was immediately dispensed with and he was given food on a strict schedule.
It was in that apartment where my Rainbow Arc of Fire self-publishing career really took off. Most of the first six books in the series arrived there from the printer in Canada. Sadly, too, it was there that I had to put Schnozz to sleep when the Vet discovered that her colon was riddled with cancer after 13 years on the planet. I wrote about her passing in Worlds Beneath Us. When the Vet arrived, Sneezer, sensing trouble, hid under the bed and remained there until long after the Vet left with Schnozz's body.
It was there, also, where I was given Miranda, a high-strung Calico. Sneezer did not take to her at all in the beginning--yowling and chasing after her relentlessly. He simply did not like other cats. This was a pattern I would discover from that point on. Another cat was competition for food and attention. With me, he was as lovable and friendly as can be; toward other cats, however, he was ruthless and defensive. "Live and let live" was not his motto regarding another feline, even one in residence. But, eventually, he declared a truce with Miranda, as he had with Schnozz before, and we all settled into a routine those final months that we lived in the Park Humboldt Apartments.
No comments:
Post a Comment